Mujou Kyuusoku
by shotgunhero
Summary: ONE-SHOT... Sasori's ill-fated attempts at romance. Set during Sasori's early days with Akatsuki when Orochimaru was his team-mate. Explicit violence and some sexual themes.


He hated the restlessness and boredom born from the intervals between Akatsuki's missions. In their absence, he poured himself into his craft, his art. In Sasori's opinion, art was beauty that never died, an instant eternally frozen in time. Beauty should be preserved and protected, lasting far beyond the length of a meager human life. It was the only way to fill the idle hours, the only way to ignore the immutable passage of time.

However, now, Sasori was lost, incapable of filling the void. All inspiration fled from him, leaving him desperate, empty. His tools disobeyed him. His hands shook in their frustration. Each new puppet he created was ugly, contrived, devoid of any spark of life. It was missing something. What? He didn't know. Time washed across him, suffocating him beneath the weight of all the sand that measured each passing second.

His heavy footsteps resounded through the empty halls of Orochimaru's current hideout. Each hollow thud echoed the empty seconds, abraded the itch he couldn't scratch.

"COME OUT AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN! YOU WORTHLESS SNAKE!"

A woman's screams filled the compound. How had he failed to notice them before, her vicious, defiant wails? It was such a beautiful sound, so fiery and alive. Her blessed timbre drowned out the madness that nagged his mind, a piercing distraction.

"ARE YOU SOME KIND OF COWARD, OROCHIMARU?"

This woman possessed a courage that bordered on insanity. Sasori laughed to himself as he walked. His interest piqued by her recklessness. He wondered if there was any basis to such blatant arrogance. Finally, with a destination acquired, his footsteps seemed lighter, leading him to the danker, fouler places of Orochimaru's stronghold.

He masked his chakra signature, and peeked, almost shyly, into the musty darkness of her prison. He was curious about the woman who so brazenly requested her own doom. A boyish delight claimed him. It was almost reminiscent of his days in Sunakagure, not five years past. The early days of his youth, while admittedly lonesome, were filled with the sharp radiance of this child-like wonder. There were times where he almost missed it. More so, he was nostalgic for the access to so many wonderful shinobi that became materials for his craft. He sighed wistfully as he remembered the way Hiroku struggled so fruitlessly against the poison that paralyzed him. Such a beautiful memory encased in one of his most favored puppets.

Her gasps of exertion replaced her shouts as the prisoner struggled against the shackles that chained her to the wall. The candlelight cast long shadows across the room that partially obscured the object of his fascination from sight. Emboldened by his curiosity, Sasori stepped into the threshold of her abysmal prison.

In that instant, time shuddered to violent halt, frozen in that moment his gaze rested on the soft contours of her face. The tremors of peace quaked through his entire body, the blissfulness of the sudden pause. All reasoning and logic suspended by a single, forceful word that drowned out her feral snarl: exquisite. The vivacity in her spirit, it was everything he could have hoped for and more. This! This was what he had been missing! Her defiance in the face of overwhelming adversity was thrilling, the embodiment of the spark, the life, that which he grasped after but could never achieve. It was this raw vitriol that held time itself in its grasp.

His feet moved him forwards, autonomously, a moth drawn to a flame. Her temerity evaporated the closer he drew. Her stark blue eyes grew wide in wild, animalistic fear. Even this was beautiful to Sasori, her trepidation a bright ember that threatened to consume him entirely.

"Do you want me to save you?"

His voice betrayed none of the exhilaration he felt. His youthful face a mask of calm reserve. The same could not be said for the kunoichi. The range of emotions she expressed in the short time since Sasori entered her cell was enthralling. He observed her physical response to this glimmer of hope with rapt fascination. The way her jaw went slack in shock, the way the artery in her slender throat throbbed visibly at her pulse-point, all of it captivated him.

"Why?"

Her voice was shaky, raw from overuse, and filled with such a wide array of emotions. Her hope, suspicion, and confusion were all evident. Each new response was stunning its intensity. He was sensitive to each subtle change. Clarity he never before experienced. As if her existence alone added color and vibrancy to his world. As if she were made solely for the purpose his observation.

"I'll not ask again."

"Y-yes."

Now, it was shame. The little kunoichi bowed her head, her arms hung limply at her sides. Sasori surmised she must be a prideful creature to respond so negatively to being spared a fate much worse than death. Being a possession of Orochimaru was a short-lived existence. Perhaps, she was unaware of the fate she narrowly avoided.

"Then, you belong to me now."

"B-but… I thought…"

The panic returned to the kunoichi's face. The inflection of her voice rose a few octaves with her renewed apprehension. In response to his soft laughter, she backed away until her back pressed against the cold stone of her prison cell.

"You actually believed you would be permitted to leave this place? Don't be foolish. Instead, you should be grateful. You will find this preferable to the alternative, I'm sure. Orochimaru is not renowned for his kindness. Surely, your obedience is not too high a price for your life."

He did not wait for her response before turning to leave. His mind now filled with the sacred call of his inspiration. Now, he was occupied with an entirely different form of agitation. A pleasant and refreshing anxiety replaced the dreadful nagging itch of his impatience.

"Where are you going? HEY! WAIT A MINUTE! COME BACK HERE! AREN'T YOU-"

Her impatient cries died out as the distance between them increased. He could already see his next puppet take shape in his mind, the devious mechanism he would employ. His hands twitched in anticipation, eager to begin. His little kunoichi had been so helpful, his exquisite muse. Later he would have to think of how to reward her. Any thoughts of how he would wrest her from Orochimaru's grasp had yet to enter his mind. He hadn't the time to deal with such trivial details. His muse was calling, and he would hate to keep her waiting.

0…..0

Orochimaru leaned over the little kunoichi, his scalpel poised to cut into the tender flesh of her neck. Her blue eyes sunk into bruised sockets, wide and vacant. Her pupils dilated in a deadeye stare that made Sasori sick. Her vitality, he found himself painfully aware of its absence. Generally, this sort of thing would not affect the puppet-master. There were numerous times beyond counting that he conducted similar experiments, carefully dissecting, observing, and learning. He would stare on with detached scrutiny as his test subjects seized violently, his painstakingly crafted poisons reeking havoc throughout their bodies. He could even admit to a feeling akin to pleasure as, days later, they shuddered their final gasps. Each death was a testament to his skill, his intelligence. The poison was just another facet of his art form.

For some inexplicable reason, he found it impossible to achieve the same level of cold analysis when it came to this little kunoichi. Even now, as she lay weak and pitiful, her power over him did not diminish. She brought with her all the biting sweetness of a stimulant, the way she could simultaneously suspend and accelerate the seconds. At times striking in its pleasure, and in others, such as this, dreadful in its agony. The price he paid for the savage precision of his lucidity.

In a rare show of emotion, the puppet-master frowned. His eyes raked over her. The oxygen mask fogged briefly with each shallow breath that escaped her slightly parted lips. A faint sheen of perspiration, tiny droplets dotting every pore, contributed to her wan appearance. Surgical tubing dangled from her arm, supplying her intravenously with some unknown solution. Her long raven hair pooled onto the cold steel of the examination table, capturing the flickering candlelight. Sasori restrained the urge to slip his fingers into the silky strands.

"Orochimaru," Sasori said, announcing his presence.

It was not as if the snake shinobi was unaware. Sasori had made no effort to conceal himself. It was, rather that, Orochimaru previously ignored the puppet-master. Sasori was no newcomer to Orochimaru's sensitive pride. He hardly had the patience to deal with such wasteful exchanges of courtesy. If not for their mutual ties to Akatsuki, the puppet-master would have long since forgone any form of discourse. In this particular circumstance, however, Sasori willingly constrained his impatient nature. The snake shinobi possessed something he wanted.

Orochimaru paused, and leveled his gaze on the intruder to his laboratory. He said nothing, but Sasori could see the snake shinobi's poorly concealed irritation. Dispensing with the customary feints of bartering, Sasori elected to speak his intentions plainly. It would only be a waste of time trying to con the man. If Orochimaru possessed no other positive qualities, he was, at least, incredibly quick-witted.

"This one belongs to me."

The change in Orochimaru was instantaneous. The irritation melted from his face, replaced with a devious smirk.

"You surprise me, Sasori-kun. I would not believe you so easily swayed by this young woman's plight."

Orochimaru's rasping laughter carried a suggestive lilt that grated against Sasori's pride. He was above the petty yearnings of flesh, the weak, human desire for attachment. At a young and tender age he learned the harsh realities of the world, and severed that part of himself. There could only be value in tangible things that endured. Affection was fleeting, and bonds were undependable, fragile. The very concept was abhorrent, and to entertain the thought that such disillusions would motivate his actions was worse.

"That is hardly the case. She is merely a unique specimen."

"Indeed," the snake acknowledged. "Such advances require quality materials. Since Sasori-kun is so interested in my research materials... Then, perhaps a trade? A certain summoning technique would suffice for my little pet."

"Impure World Reincarnation? Quite a weighted exchange for just some woman."

Orochimaru's boldness never failed to amaze Sasori, nor did his perceptiveness. To request such a high-level Jutsu for a mere test subject was almost laughable, but it appeared that Orochimaru knew this little kunoichi was something more than a simple research specimen.

"I disagree, Sasori-kun. This woman is valuable to me. I only propose an equal exchange, something you want for something I want."

"I'll agree, but don't presume to think we're even, Orochimaru."

"Good, I'm glad we could reach an understanding, Sasori-kun. Then my little pet is yours. Take good care of her, won't you?"

Sasori glanced down at the girl on the examination table. She was finally his. He would not have to contend with the meddlesome snake any longer. A strange sensation grew and expanded from the center of his chest. Relief? If so, it was short-lived. The electronic monitors placed around the examination table began to beep menacingly, and Orochimaru flashed his fanged grin. Did he presume some sort of victory? If so, he was sorely mistaken.

"If she dies, consider our deal invalid. I'll have the blame squarely resting on your shoulders, snake. I have no use for a corpse."

"Ah, Sasori-kun is troubled. I'd be happy to lend a hand. Consider this a good-will token. Akatsuki to Akatsuki."

Orochimaru deposited a syringe into the puppet-master's hand, and maintained his vindictive sneer.

"I advise you do act quickly, Sasori-kun. She may still die yet."

Without another word, the snake shinobi left the laboratory. Sasori felt another frown tug at the corners of his mouth. The monitoring devices continued to sound their urgent chorus. Sasori eyed the syringe suspiciously. Orochimaru's motivations were never clear. This could easily be another of his sadistic machinations. With a practiced precision, he slid the needle into the surgical tubing, and slowly administered the substance into her bloodstream. It was a risk, nevertheless one he was obliged to take.

The response was sudden. Convulsions wracked the kunoichi's body, and Sasori pinned her to the examination table by her shoulders. He issued his silent, futile curses to the snake shinobi. Slowly, the seizures subsided and her sporadic breathing evened out. The consciousness, and life, returned to her eyes with a shuddering gasp, her eyelids fluttering spastically. His amber gaze froze in her crystallized blue irises. Her mumbled whispers were muted by the oxygen mask that was quickly torn from her face.

"You… You came for me…"

And with those few words, she drifted from consciousness. She left behind a bewildered puppet-master momentarily numb with relief, chasing after his worried breaths.

0…0

Wooden fingers grazed across a wooden cheek in a parody of tenderness and longing. The shadows shuddered in awkward and lurching movements. Sasori's lips twitched into the beginnings of a grimace of disapproval. This shadow play did nothing to fill the unsettling void that bored into his chest, the aching pangs of unrequited attachment. The desire for which, Sasori believed long since banished. These emotions, his mind wished to fervently deny them, bury them just as he had as a child. He didn't want them. He didn't need them. They were unnecessary, a weakness and vulnerability which he refused to succumb to. However much Sasori tried to convince himself of this, whatever protests he mustered against them rang hollow. The philosophies that once guided him from the darkness of his childhood despair faltered.

He severed the chakra strings that imbued momentary life into his creations, and the puppets fell to the stone with a resounding clatter. Hollow and empty. It wasn't enough, just as it had not been then. Their cold lifeless hands had not replaced the affections of his mother and father, just as they would not suffice as a substitute for _her_. His machines of death and war were incapable of soothing the need that raged within him, that consumed his precious detached solitude. It was always there, bubbling just below the surface. His fingertips burned with urge to touch her, to once again brush against warm softness of her face.

His little kunoichi lay asleep on the nearby bed, still exhausted from her nearly fatal run-in with the snake shinobi. His gaze drifted between the crumpled forms of his puppets and the sleeping form of his kunoichi. What was it about her that resonated so deeply within him? He closed the distance between them and stared into her face, as if the answer lay somewhere in her mask of peaceful serenity. Unbidden, as if drawn by the strength of some unknown magnetism, his hand reached forth. The unpracticed trembling in his outstretched fingers, his mind fought desperately against them in attempt to curtail the willful disobedience of his own body. But he drew closer, and closer still, with each agonizing inch, with each staggered second. The thundering pulse of her his heartbeat roared in his ears, drowning out her soft sighs of torpor.

With his fingers mere centimeters from her cheek, her eyes fluttered open. He froze, as if he were some child caught in an act of disobedience. He was trapped in the quicksand of a silence that stretched on for an eternity. The disorientation melted slowly from her face as he recovered himself enough to begin to draw away. She quickly seized his hand. His ragged, nervous breaths evaporated in the searing quality of her touch. Her other hand travelled up his arm, settling against the bare flesh of his neck, drawing him downwards, ever closer. All he could do was stare, stare back into the intensity of her inscrutable gaze. Her silver blue eyes filled with an emotion he could not begin to decipher.

The soft brush of her lips and he was lost. His thoughts went blank, as if a flash bomb burst inside his mind. His breath expelled in a rush, swallowed in her kiss that grew more insistent as seconds passed. Her long, delicate fingers silently worked the fastenings of his robe. It dropped to the floor in hushed whisper. Her passion swallowed his protests. Her hands left hot tracks wherever they passed across his exposed skin.

He was beneath her. When it happened he could not say. Reality was lost to him, intoxicated by the silkiness of her skin as his hands mindlessly, possessively wandered across the terrain of her body. Slick with sweat. The world condensed into a single point, the place where their two bodies met, and somehow became one. Paralyzed, as if some blessed Genjutsu entrapped him. It enveloped him, bound him, surrounded him in everything that was _her_. Her flesh, her soul, her fierce passion, all of it belonged to him, and him alone. Her eyes, an endless sea of blue, were all he could see. He was lost in them, like a capsized boat, powerless against the waves of ecstasy that crashed against his body as she moved above him. The sweetness of her voice, the soft sighs of her pleasure and muttered curses were a siren's song. Beautiful, terrifying in its power. Its overwhelming allure begged him for more, pleaded him to join the heady chorus. Her back arched, her head thrown backwards in throaty scream. Her body became a sudden pulsing vice. The aching tension that built inside him suddenly snapped, culminated in a shuddering release. Rapture ebbed and flowed throughout his entire body, and his voice joined hers in a reflexive cry. His hands gripped the slippery skin of her shoulders, pulling her downwards, closer. He wanted her closer. He wanted to become a part of her. This beautiful creature, this living perfection, that he had found, that belonged to him and him alone. Lying there, his exhausted pants and sweat mixing with hers, he knew. This. This was what he had been missing all along. This was what he denied himself. This was belonging. This was completion. This was… Love. His mind awash with bliss, Sasori fell into a dreamless sleep unlike he had ever known before.

0…0

"Three days…"

_I'm sorry._

_I have to go._

_I have to go home._

"Fourteen hours…"

_I know…_

_You deserved better than this._

_After all you've done for me._

_You deserve better than me._

"Thirty-two minutes…"

_But the truth is…_

_I could never feel the same._

_The way I know you feel for me._

"WHY?"

_I tried…_

_I thought I could…_

_But it's better this way._

_It's better you know the truth…_

_Than to force ourselves to live some illusion._

"BETTER? BETTER FOR WHO?"

The sudden outburst quelled. It dissolved as suddenly as it appeared. Her one-sided monologue played a broken record in his mind, ceaselessly. He already spent the better part of the journey, arguing with her. With her? Or with himself? At this point, it was impossible to say. Sasori was so very weary, so exhausted. It was so hard to think. He kneaded his temples. He paused, and took a deep breath. So ragged, so tender, so very near broken.

"Twenty-eight seconds…"

_This is goodbye…_

The repetition, the calculation of every passing second gradually ate away the pain. The pain caused by her words. Her beautiful, terrible words were irreversibly branded on his soul, a wound that may never heal. He held them in his tightly clenched fist, fervently, as if her letter were some sacred relic. He couldn't bear to separate himself from the piece of her that still remained.

The forest surrounding him was blanketed in an eerie haze that obscured much of the landscape from sight. Only grey silhouettes remained. Sasori continued forward, as if magnetically drawn to his target.

"Kirikagure…" The shinobi village that was her home.

With each step, the fog grew thicker. Sasori paused. His eyes scanned his surroundings, met only with a wall of white. With increased concentration, his perceptions sharpened to a razor's edge. This was not natural. The chill water droplets prickled across his already clammy skin. An imperceptible shiver shuddered along his spine. It was not simply a result of the sudden change in temperature, but also in response to unseen eyes that bored into him. Carefully, he raised his hands to methodically create the seals of his Jutsu. Fine threads of chakra shot from his body in every direction. Probing, searching, like a thousand iridescent vines, they crept across the hard packed soil.

A sudden, strangled shout shattered the vacuum of sound as his chakra bit into human flesh. The mist warbled, the Jutsu on the brink of collapse. However, it gradually rematerialized as a dense silence filled the passing seconds. Even with recovery of the Jutsu, a subtle smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. The thrill of his cornered prey sunk deep into his chest. It was a joyfulness that was only capitulated by the remaining chakra threads that slithered across the earthy loam beneath his feet. Their energy tingled across his damp, pale skin as they soaked back into his chakra network.

Mechanically, Sasori's feet moved forward. His eyes followed the shimmering wire of chakra, each step still shrouded in an impenetrable wall of thick white fog.

"No!"

A feminine gasp sent shockwaves, once again, through the cloaking Jutsu. This sound that was irreversibly branded on his soul. With narrowed eyes, he hungrily searched the dissipating cloud. His tawny gaze clashed against those all too familiar icy orbs. Betrayal bubbled up in his throat as a feral growl, hardening his stare to a diamond's scrutiny. She drew closer with his every step, punctuated by the sharp, bitter pangs of hatred, among numerous other unnamed emotions.

He barely acknowledged the other shinobi as he approached the kunoichi. Her eyes were wide, frozen with disbelief and fear, like a doe staring wildly into the eyes of tiger. A fear more power than any Genjutsu in existence. The man's desperate gasps prickled against Sasori's consciousness irritably. With a scowl and the flick of his wrist, a kunai flew from his expert fingertips. The blade was, now, lodged deeply in the man's throat. The nameless shinobi's struggle evaporated with a gurgle, his life spilling out across his olive pinstriped uniform.

In that instant, whatever enchantment had bound the kunoichi shattered, and the forest exploded into motion. The hollow thud of her fleeing footfalls echoed through the trees. Sasori made no attempt to follow. Instead his head tilted slightly before his fingers slowly formed the seals. Thin blue fibers shot from his fingers, racing after the little kunoichi.

Time seemed to stretch out for eternity as he concentrated on his Jutsu, spinning his own life energy into tiny tendrils. Until… With a nauseating tug, the fine threads grew taut, embedded deep into the flesh of his quarry, winding themselves around the cartilage in her joints. Sasori felt each of the little kunoichi's futile struggles translated as another gut-wrenching jerk of the cables. Like a fisherman reeling in a prize catch, Sasori retracted the chakra. His eyes watched the thin vapor expectantly, almost giddily. Eventually she emerged. Her body hung limply in the air like a disused marionette.

"I think I like you better this way."

His dark laughter pierced the silence. A sneer spread his lips in response to her shudder.

"Why… Why…? You shouldn't have come."

Her faint voice bored into his eardrums. That she even dared to speak! To criticize him! Sasori felt his composure slipping. He swallowed hard, and took a deep breath before responding simply, monotonously.

"I have come to take back what is mine."

"I belong to no one!"

Her voice was shrill with defiance. Her blue eyes were passionate with disdain.

"WE MADE A DEAL!"

His voice escaped as a roar. With the subtle flick of his fingertips, the kunoichi slammed into the broad trunk of a nearby tree. Guilt coiled in his stomach at the sight of fresh blood painting her lips a vibrant red. Sasori's thoughts became a swirling mass of pained confusion. His hand, autonomously, stretched towards her in a vain attempt to comfort her. She spat at his feet. Sasori could only blink, shifting his gaze between the contemptuous expression and the insult she hurled at the ground.

"Fuck. Your. Deal. Sasori. I am not, and never will be some thing you can own. I'll never want you. I'll never love you. I'll never…"

His mind went blank. Pain. Anguish. An indescribable desire to silence her and those painful words overcame him. His vision blurred, drenched with an impermeable cloud of sticky red. Soaking into his black robe, his face, his hands, and the earth below them. His knees grew weak, and he collapsed under the weight of his own suffering. His breath was ragged, hungry gasps, which grew to desperate quaking sobs. Seconds, minutes, hours, even years may have passed, and Sasori would have been hard pressed to calculate. This was time without meaning.

He slowly lifted his gaze, blankly staring into her hollow blue eyes. Empty, devoid of that beautiful spark. He blinked, and continued to stare. He felt nothing. A quiet, peaceful void swallowed what once had been his heart. Sasori stood, slightly bewildered, unable to move.

"Is play-time over, already, Sasori-kun?"

A familiar, raspy voice cut through the tranquil copse of trees. Sasori did not turn to greet the snake-shinobi's arrival, still lost to the anesthesia of his recovered emotionlessness. Undaunted, the snake pressed on.

"I hope you found my little pet to be of use."

"Of use…"

Sasori parroted back, and Orochimaru shot him a fanged grin. Up until that moment, he had not given the concept a moment of consideration. As if awakened by his fellow Akatsuki member's words, ideas… brilliant ideas flooded his mind. Poisons, new methodologies… plans. A subtle smirk tugged at Sasori's mouth, and he turned to regard the snake-shinobi.

"Useful, yes. I think this was a worthwhile endeavor. To say the least."

Sasori responded coldly as he cast a sidelong look over his shoulder at the husk of the little kunoichi.

"There is quite a lot of work still left to be done."

Orochimaru's smirk deepened as Sasori hoisted her corpse over his shoulder and he trudged passed. The auburn-haired young man looked back at Orochimaru, scowling.

"Don't stand there all day. I don't like to be late."

A/N: I didn't realize that I had yet to write my notes. I honestly have no idea if anyone actually reads this, but I feel compelled to do so anyway.

As it's probadly obvious to tell, this was written in segments over the course of really quite a long time. I keep getting side tracked by the role playing game of life. Not quite as fun as the board game. Either way, I was really glad to finish it. Or rather finish something. This is my first one-shot and I have to admit, it's quite refreshing.

I apologize for the pacing. I originally intended to make it more than just a one night stand, but I didn't want to get into too many unnecessary details. As you may have noticed I didn't find the OC character to be particularly relevant to the actual story outside of the specific role she had to play. I intentionally chose not to name her. Because this is a story about Sasori, and I don't think he is one to get caught up with all the minutiae of romance, or really any sort of human intreaction. So I guess, take this as more of character study of the person I believe Sasori to have been. As well as the path I theorize as the one he has taken. I wrote this because I was very captivated by the tragic nature of his character and quite fascinated by his narcissim and blatant sociopathy. He is quite an interesting guy to have gotten so few episodes.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story. It was fun to write. I was able to try out a couple of techniques that I thought seemed interesting at the time.

There is a bit that I tried to leave up to reader interpretation. So if you want some clarifications about how I saw certain events, I would be happy to discuss whatever interests you about the story. Who knows, it might be what inspires me to write something else.

Your comments and reviews are always appreciated!

Yours truly,

L


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